


The Other Half Of The Apple

by nonsannochetuseilantartide



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Multi, Multichapter, Pining, apple symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsannochetuseilantartide/pseuds/nonsannochetuseilantartide
Summary: Jonathan Sims, a young philosophy teacher specialized in Plato and being a pessimistic prick, starts a new job at the Magnus Institute, a boarding school deep in the middle of the countryside where kids can learn with teachers with weird habits and passion for Plautine theatre, a librarian too fond of fire and guardians too keen on opening doors that should be locked.Also, rambles about apples and love, colleagues who smell like a garden of flowers, idiots in love, and swearwords in Latin.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Kudos: 9





	1. Pure luck and muddy schoolyards

The traffic sure didn’t want to finish. 

Jonathan was stuck in his little car, that wreck as old as the world painted in an awkward metallic rat fur colour, with the radio low volume not to wake his brain, too foggy from the endless traffic’s noise in the early morning fog.

Sure, everyone was heading to work to alienate themselves and alienate in late capitalism’s era, everyone was trying to be the breadwinner and do absurd things such as don’t starve. 

But it was his first day at the new school, and being late would have been definitely a suicide.

He had never been good with time, in fact: he had at least eight clocks hanged arounf the house, not to mention the incredible amount of alarms on his phone, but even with all of these things he was always late. 

He became single, because of his time managing skills. 

Not too bad, they worked better as friends. 

He was tapping his fingers in a bored way on the wheel, following in broad terms the song on the radio’s tempo, suddenly not so sure about his choice of working out of the city, teaching in a place in open countryside and staying there to live. 

He should have stayed in London, finding a job somewhere near his place and living a normal life. 

But no, because his philosophy degree has always led to such things. 

His puff went to unravel in a greyish halo in front of him, on the windshield, a sort of warning or mute judging for his slackness. 

He remembered well his first day at the old school: he came all happy, with is cute bag that in that moment was lying in the back, smiling like only young teachers just came out from training could smile. 

The adventure ended after a couple of tears, he sure didn’t remembered the reason. 

But that time he would have been more tougher. 

He would have entered, glacial gazes everywhere. The first kid chatting, extra assignments. 

He had to rule from the first moment.

An amused smile, his car still stuck. 

Suddenly, he heard his phone humming on the passenger’s seat, a battery of annoying noises that was still in his head when he answered the call.

-Yes?- his gritty voice replied without even seeing who he was about to talk to. 

-Hi bud- Georgie’s voice was always ringing when they spoke on the phone.

He didn’t knew the reason. 

-Hi- he talked in his usual “I just want to be somewhere else” voice, and that “somewhere else” in that moment was just his couch and a book, but he searched inside himself a tiny bit of...life. 

-You found a new job-

-Yup-

-You’ll work with kids?-

-Teaching, right-

An annoyed pause, interrupted only by the other cars’ noises while they started to go ahead, even a little. 

-Are you sure you still want to be a teacher? You are an academic, you deserve something more...you know...something more. That’s it-

-I like my job- Jonathan mumbled almost irritated, when a whisper abandoned his lips. -And with classic philosophy’s essays you don’t make much money-

Georgie, on the other side of the call, took a deep breath, like a mother annoyed by his son’s attitude. 

-Are you sure? Like, super sure? You already got kicked out once, and-

-I never got kicked out. I just left elegantly-

-They kicked you out-

-Not true-

-Give me proves, then-

There wasn’t proves against her statement, literally. He really got kicked out from that private school, for very stupid reasons made by parents without sense and too much power, and he found himself unemployed. 

And since he couldn’t live with sophistic and screams from a barrel in the middle of the agora, he had to find something to do. 

Maybe some maieutics to young minds, again. 

He made an humble smile, Georgie always made him do that, keeping his fingers steady on the wheel, trying to take as much as ground as possible without crash into something. 

-Okay, you are right, but I cannot understand your doubts. I like kids, and I like teaching-

-The problem is that people don’t like you-

Georgie had the worst habit of being this honest in everything, and it was a good thing. 

-I can still work on that- with a smirk pronounced words he didn’t really believed in.

Maybe because he was born a jerk, or things like that, but despite the efforts had failed to improve. 

Zero. 

A light laugh from the other side of the call brought him back to his grim reality. 

-You’re so silly, sometimes-

-Just sometimes- 

A moment of silence. 

-So- the young woman’s voice filled the car, again -I have to write the new episode for the podcast, there’s going to be an host and...and I have to plan everything, you know? Stuff. I have to do stuff-.

She always used the excuse of the podcast to interrupt communications, even when they were a couple, but it wasn’t that bad. 

At least she had a solid income, a fanbase. 

He was loved in at least three libraries, with all the money he spent in books. 

But he never had fans, that’s it. 

He was just a disaster. 

-No no, I can understand- he put his hand through his hair who had been cut two days before. 

He always kept them long, tied in braids long up to the back, but he decided to cut them off for the occasion. 

Like a soldier crossing the first rite of passage. 

What a good metaphor. 

He wanted to crash in the guardrail, but his sense of self preservation was way too strong. 

He swallowed some saliva, looking distractedly the right way on the navigator. 

The destination was close. 

-I disconnect the call. Bye, Jonathan-

-Bye-

-Good luck for everything-

-Same for you-

-Bye-

-Bye-

The call was interrupted.

He always hated ending conversations on the phone. 

Not much for the embarrassing pleasantries, but for the mortal silence that succeeded the end of the call. 

Blurted out some nonsense, trying to focus on the road. 

He was heading through the unknown. 

The school was exactly how he imagined it: a castle, a palace deep in the green of a clearing surrounded by a forest, the walls as white as bones covered in vines that were climbing like tentacles of an abyssal creature on the walls of a ship. 

It was an abnormally big creature, and it was about to swallow him like a piece of meat. 

He parked in a open space for cars where others were parked, taking his bag from the back seat. 

There was plenty of time to take the other suitcases. 

He started to walk towards the gate that he thought is was the entrance, the muddy path under his green shoes, still looking at the building in front of him. 

He grew up in a similar place, his granny she was always eager to give him the best education possible to shine on her friends, and he had taught in a similar place, even thought his memories weren’t the best. 

He still had a scar on his hand, but that’s another story. 

The more he went on, in that lukewarm September morning, and the more the bawl of voices was getting stronger. 

He didn’t knew, precisely. How he could break the ice. 

From what he had understood, the old teacher retired, and he knew well how kids reacts in similar situations. 

They looked at you like a stranger and an enemy at the same time. 

They boycotted you, tearing you into pieces like a pack of wolves and then pitifully spitting your bones in a corner. 

Pupils can be as cruel as beasts.

He arrived at the internal gate, at the external one he just rang and prayed, seeing the place that would become his home. 

What he was supposed to do? Waiting?

The fingers were sweaty on the handle of the bag. 

He started to tap the feet one against the other, using the mud that sure was dirtying his pants, trying at the same time to stretch his gaze to see the schoolyard. 

Somewhere, probably behind that small number of threes, there were sport fields, from where he was hearing screams and laughs. 

Or they were doing recess, who knows?

Classes had started a week before, everything was supposed to be already normal. 

He waited a minute. 

Then two. 

Three. 

He always hated waiting, always hated staying in line or sitting on the plastic chairs at the doctor’s office. 

A the bus stop. Always hated staying there. 

And that situation wasn’t better. 

He got close to the metal gate, touching the glacial steel to wake himself up.  
A shiver down his spine, but nothing serious. 

Sighed heavily, keeping to tap his foot on the ground and his fingers on the metal, when suddenly a soccer ball flew over his head, landing a few steps from him.

Of course, a pack of kids ran in that direction. 

They were about thirteen of at least fourteen, the dyed strands of hair and colourful socks to make the green and white uniforms a bit more bright, and their worried expressions talked for them. 

-Sir, sir!- the one that looked like the chief, tanned skin and big curious eyes, talked first. -May you please give us the ball back?-.

Jonathan carelessly turned his face, taking the ball between his hands and hefting it. 

It was a normal ball, humid because it had touched the ground.

-Can you please call me the principal? A teacher- if they wanted him to give them back the ball, better for them to give informations. 

The kids looked at each others, confused.

-Why do you need mister Bouchard?- asked a girl with thick braids and round glasses, torturing the end of the green cardigan. 

The man managed to empathise with the girl, when he was also a kid he was too terrorized by his principal, but it was the past. 

He passed from the other side of the mirror.

-Because...because it’s none of your business. Now behave like good kids and call an adult- 

-Give us the ball please- replied the tanned one, tilting his head. 

The others did the same, like there was only a brain. 

With a puff, Jon dribbled it on the palm, deep in his thoughts. 

-First you do what I asked, and then I’ll decide- smiled with malice, trying to balance it first on his finger and then on the back of the hand. 

Murmuring insults under their breaths, the kids turned around and ran away in the mud, disappearing behind the tree. 

He was good at getting respected. 

In a bunch of seconds, from the same little forest a man appeared, amber-like skin and his bright teeth shown in a gentle smile. 

He was dressed in a sporty way, his long arms crossed on his chest. 

-Good morning- he saluted him with an hand, while the kids rapidly came at his hips like those representations of Jesus on the mountain that Jonathan’s grandmother liked a lot. -Are you the new teacher? The philosophy’s one?-.

The man abandoned the ball at his feet, rubbing his hands to wash the dirt away, and eventually offered the other one trough the gate’s bars. 

-Yes. The name’s Sims. Jonathan-.

Someone, he didn’t remember where, once said to him that to seem formal he needed to say always his surname first, the name was an optional. 

But since his surname sounded like a video game title, and since he had immediately seen the kids laughing, he added his name. 

Little demons. 

His shake was solid, and his smile was more and more bright. 

-Tim Stoker. I teach P.E. to these little monsters here. Maybe I’ll open the gate, what do you think?-

-That would be awesome-

Tim put an hand in one of his pockets of his trousers, taking out a bunch of keys and buttons bright under the pale sun. 

With a rapid movement, he hit one of the buttons, leaving the gate opening his maws with slow and rusty movements. 

Jonathan wasn’t so sure to get in. 

Maybe it was the kids’ gaze, with his eyes that were demanding the ball that he took back in his hands. 

He left it on the floor, leaving the girl with the braids to take it and go away with the others. 

The kids always run away in packs. 

He remained alone with his new colleague, in a silence full of embarrassment for everyone. 

-So, what led you here? I heard that you’re from London- Tim scratched his head, literally looking down at the other. 

-Pure luck, honestly- replied in a whisper Jonathan, drawing small circles in the dirt with the top of his shoe. 

And it was the truth, in a certain sense. 

It has been luck. 

-Cool. Look, Bouchard sure is waiting for you at the door, let me show you the way-  
with a weird movement of his legs, the P.E. teacher turned himself, leading towards with big steps to the gigantic door at the end of the garden. -You’ve been lucky, today in the turn could have been Gerry with his headphones and you could have been here for hours-.

Jonathan didn’t wanted to know the identity of Gerry, because he had the bad sensation that he would find out soon. 

Like all the rest.


	2. disorientation&colour-coordinated walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Jonathan meets a lot of people and thinks about how easy it is to confuse him.

The head teacher’s office was big. 

Not too big, but enough to contain bookshelves full of photos and trophies. Most of them contained the face of the man in front of him: a slim man tall enough to be taken seriously by people, shiny in his pricey grey three pieces that was the same colour of his greased hair. 

At sun’s light, they looked like they were made out of plastic. 

-So, you’ve wrote some essays- Mr. Bouchard’s voice was deep, like he trained it to be as serious and fearsome as possible.

He was keeping to browse papers, under Jonathan’s watchful gaze that was clutching his bag to his chest, as it was some kind of toy to maintain the calm. His fingers were fidgeting with the straps that were closing it. 

-Yes, Mr. Bouchard- he had already asked him a question about the books, at the first interview. It was one of the most relevant things on his curriculum. 

Or at least, that’s what Georgie always said.

-About the maieutics, about the Symposium, Plato and applied geopolitics, Plato and modern media: from the Myth of the Cave to Matrix, about the Theaetetus, The Republic and socials…You must really like Plato, I see-.

Although the man had used a totally neutral tone, the other felt a series of knives stabbing him in the stomach until it’s mushy.

-It’s my favourite author, of the Classics ones at least- he managed to spit out, showing a mechanical smile. -At university I followed many seminars about him and his school. I can’t define myself as a platonic for sure, but his mentality and didactic method had influences on-

-Do you know Greek?- Bouchard cut short the speech, leaving Jonathan’s mouth in mid-air and too many words that had to go back to his throat.

-Just enough-

-So you know English, Greek and Italian?-

-Italian only at home, my father’s mother is a first generation immigrant, but I never frequented formal courses-

They already had that discussion a few weeks before that time, at the interview. 

And already the first time he had felt terrifyingly uncomfortable.

He had put the “knowledge of Italian” on his curriculum just because Georgie said it was a good idea, but he never liked actually speaking it. 

Too many ghosts were hidden in that language, at least for him. 

With a grin that could say anything and everything, the principal left the papers on the desk, and then looked straight at the you man. 

In his glasses, Jonathan he could almost see himself. 

He swallowed some saliva.

-In this school we search the best of the best, you should feel honoured of being with us- he wanted to make the concept clear. 

And Jonathan knew that. He wasn’t the best of the best, come on. He was an excited kid and with anything to lose. 

-I know, I thank you for this- he limited himself to ring in that mechanical tone that he prepared. -I cannot express of grateful I am-.

The man hummed with satisfaction, making a brief moment with the head. 

He pointed at the door. 

-Now one of your colleague will show you around the school, your first lesson will be tomorrow-.

As if his words had activated some mechanism, the door opened from the outside, bringing in a much taller man. 

He was too tall, he had to tilt his head a bit to enter in the room, and he had a thick pair of glasses on his nose. His reddish hair were a little uncombed, and a small smile on his face in the middle of the ocean of freckles that was his face. 

He was Jonathan’s complete opposite, in a certain way.

If Jonathan had skin and eyes as dark as his mother’s, pointy arms and an height that often made him look like a kid with too many wrinkles, the newcomer was pale, almost sickly, thick arms and legs and a...soft look. 

Welcoming.

Not to talk about the chemical smell of flowers that appeared with him. 

What a strange man. 

-Mr. Blackwood, I want you to meed Mr. Sims- the principal shown him, shaking his shoulders. 

The other felt a shiver down his spine, that resulted in a grin of surprise. 

He hated when people touched him suddenly. 

-He’ll be your colleague-. 

Jonathan couldn’t see it, but he knew there was the same expression, that terrible smile. 

-I know, I know. In the staff room there was no talk of anything else- the newcomer gazed at him with embarrassment, holding out his hand. -Martin Blackwood, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I teach English-.

-Jonathan Sims- he held the hand back without any enthusiasm. 

Maybe he needed to tighten up a little, since he probably looked like a doll.

-It’s been a long time since any new teacher arrived. Melanie arrived almost four years ago-.

Melanie. The name of Georgie’s new girlfriend was Melanie. 

But maybe it was just a coincidence, he never met her. 

And then, it was really that important? Georgie left him in a very peaceful way, really. They had begun to argue in front of two beers and a basket of chips, and they both were very, very calm, and they ended it there. 

Sure, they got drunk and back at home they started to beat each other with two pans.

But they ended it there. 

And he had to go on, because life always goes on. 

As long as the boat goes, let it go. 

That’s it. 

-We’re...we’re happy to have you with us- noticing the vacuous expression of his new colleague, Martin cleared his throat. Because when a gnome a quarter of your height show himself at your boss’ office and when he holds your hand looks like he’s having a mystical vision, what do you obviously do?

You try to unlock the awkward situation you’ve jumped in, of course.   
With those words, Jonathan seemed to come back with them, blinking like he just woke up from a nightmare. 

-Oh. Sure. Thanks- he murmured, looking at the floor. 

He went in his world in the middle of the conversation, typical.

-It’s noting- the other replied with a genuine smile, looking at the door. -I’ll show you around-.

The steps of the two men on the greyish linoleum were a symphony of shuffles and one-sided chatters from the taller of the two, of course. 

-And that’s the scientific area, I don’t hang around much for obvious reasons- pointing at the green walls, the man made another awkward smile. -Maths give me anxiety-.

-I can imagine- coordinating every area by colour was a...peculiar choice. The literature area was periwinkle, walls covered in posters cheering reading, the linguistics area was of orange that hit with the old flags almost everywhere. 

His area of competence, the historical-philosophical one, was the smallest, with a bright yellow and some busts without a nose. 

The scientific area, on the other hand, was green, and the smell of hospital from the lab filled the air. 

-That’s the lab, Agnes’ reign- he gave him a pat on his shoulder. -Pray never to enter-.

-Okay- what that meant, was a mystery. 

Agnes. 

Maybe she was a cute lady, like her neighbour from his childhood that gifted candies at his birthday. 

Or she was Satan. 

They made other steps, until they arrived at a grey zone with a door tall enough to let Martin in without having to tilt his head. 

-Here’s the staff room, while the kids do a break before the clubs in the afternoon we stay here- he opened the door, letting the new teacher hear a chattering noise. -I’ll show you the others, you’re basically a celebrity-. 

What a joy. What joy and what a merriness. 

He stopped to like attentions more or less around university, when the eyes began to be evil and and tongues a little longer. 

Growing up in a small city by the sea had its advantages that disappeared when you move to the city. 

He entered. 

The staff room was wide enough to contain two tables divided by a big library, similar to those on the walls. 

Always the same smiles, always the same prizes. 

-The philosopher’s here!- ringed the English teacher, almost throwing him in the lion’s den. 

That that sentence made three people raise their heads, the ones that were sitting at the fist table, drowning in papers full of red marks.

The most distant woman was wearing a green hijab, a severe expression painted on the lips, where a mole placed just above them gave her an attractive look, while the other two women, placed one in front of the other, seemed to be compete opposites: the one that probably was the younger had a white complexion, with a flame of red hair falling on her back closed in a low ponytail and bright green eyes, while the other, submerged in the ton of equations in front of her, had natural hair closed in two adorable puffs, skin as black as an obsidian jewel and a pair of glasses to help her deep dark eyes. 

The only things that made them similar in some ways were the clothes: they both were wearing a dress and a cardigan, respectively one reddish and the other yellow. 

Jonathan though they were cute, all of them. 

The first to raise her head was the woman with the hijab, getting up practically immediately and nodding to the man. 

-Basira Hussain. Good afternoon-. His tone was severe, as if he was a student like any other.

Jon felt like a microbe. 

-Jonathan Sims, it’s a pleasure to meet you-

-Same for me. I teach French and I run the Latin course-

-And the theatre one- added the bespectacled one, trying to focus the guy, that immediately tried to calculate in his mind how secure would it be to jump from the window without breaking his neck. 

Probability of success: zero. 

Damn. 

-And the theatre one, thanks Sasha-

-You’re welcome- Sasha got up, the arms crossed on her chest while keeping to squint her eyes in his direction. -I’ve already seen you somewhere, but I can’t remember where-.

Oh no. 

When a person introduced himself with “I’ve already seen you somewhere” it could be meaning three things: or it was a fan of one of his essays, or it was the mother of one of his former students, or…

-Yeah! You had a band, right?- ringed the girl with a wide smile lightning her face. -I know you, Jon D’Ville. Cool stuff-.

The worst case happened the first day at the new work, because he was a lucky guy.  
Really, a lucky guy. 

He never talked about his university band, just because it was a part of his life that sure he wanted to forget as soon as possible.

And how he replied?

Suppressing the instinct of starting to scream, he made an unnatural and scared smile, nodding slightly. 

-I didn’t know there were any fans around here- muttered, hoping that the show soon ended.

-Yep, in the old good times…- with a dreamy tone of voice, Sasha gave him her hand. -Sasha James, maths and physics. I have the feeling that we won’t meet that often, that’s a pity-.

Maths was a very philosophical science, Jon was thinking about Zeno, Pythagoras, Hypatia. 

Even Plato was deeply mathematical in many of his ideas and myths. 

But talking about him, Jonathan Sims, maths always made him cry in confusion and desperation. 

-I fear not- he firmly held the hand. -But you’ll never say, who knows about the future-

-Right-.

The last to stand up was the red haired girl, that moved from the chair with a slow movement. 

He walked like he was going to the gallows. 

-Agnes Montague. I teach sciences- her voice was quite tender. -We’re so happy to have you with us-.

Cute lady, as he predicted. 

In a way. 

-It’s a pleasure- he nodded again, when he heard a sudden movement from the door.

-The expressive arts course started two and and two have already found a brush in one eye, incredible- a young woman went in like a fury, holding in her hands a big bag full of brushes and rolled papers.

Her movements were rapid, leaving the bleach burned hair swishing in the hair, when she fell in one of the chairs. 

Her eyes were covered by her hands, in a expression of desperation. 

-She’s Melanie King, our art history teacher- in an timid laugh, Martin looked at her. 

-Again?- his entrance had aroused the attention of Sasha, who immediately rushed to ask more informations. 

-Sash is the teachers’ coordinator- murmured Agnes to Jon in a cartoonish movement.

-It’s way less stressing than it sounds, but when things like this happen…-

Jonathan made a small movement with the head, intrigued by the conversation. 

-One for the third year put a brush into the eye of one of the first- added the new woman with a annoyed voice. 

-How is it possible that a thing like this happened two times in three days?! But more importantly, where are you when the kids decide to clawing each others’ eyes?!- the maths teacher looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a high school one. 

-Kids are beasts and you know it very well, there’s no need to lecture me!- the other looked like a teenager girl in the middle of her rebellion phase. 

Jonathan never felt more out of place. 

Sasha remained a few seconds with her mouth wide open, ready to say something, but then decided just to take a deep breath. 

-Look. Now, we go to fix the situation, and let’s all pray together that Elias doesn’t find out anything, okay?-

The other woman stood up reluctantly to go out with her.

An heavy patina of silence filled the room, interrupted only by the clearing of Martin’s own throat.

-I’ll show you your room- announced with fake enthusiasm. -So you can put your stuff away-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to English Wikipedia for helping me out with all the Greek names and yes I miss going to school.


End file.
